


Melancholy

by Saltiest_Salt



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: "a feeling of pensive sadness, (maybe?) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Basically a bunch of spots in their lives adding up to the end, Bombing, Childhood, Excessive death, Hurt/Comfort, I named Spy "Gilbert", I'm sorry if this is bad, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Its called "Melancholy" for a readon folks, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rare Pair, Time Skips, Underage Drinking, World War II, fite me, its sad, there's going to be dick jokes, typically with no obvious cause.", we know this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2018-11-19 02:44:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltiest_Salt/pseuds/Saltiest_Salt
Summary: Gilbert learned early on what was ahead, soulmates were meant to get together. With being able to communicate by their skin, not meeting their destined one was highy unlikely. Soulmates are two halves of a whole, crafted for each other. But he sometimes wonders if there was a mistake with his, the two were nothing alike from what he could gather, and the constant gibberish and monsterous drawings covering his arms completely just cemented the feeling.Maybe if he could meet this "Tavish," they could figure something out.AU Where everything you write on your skin, shows up on your soulmate.





	1. Gilbert

The first time he noticed the newly formed lines on his pale skin, Gilbert had panicked. He barely kept himself from screeching when he peeled his shirt off, all along his left arm were lines in a deep shade of black, making it impossible to see a trace of the colour underneath. Struggling to breathe, he inspected the marks, following them as they swirled and zigzaged across his skin, reaching down to his wrist. There were patches where the lines had an obvious show of more pressure from where they slightly bled, while others were almost see through. Taking it all in, trying to assess it, he concluded it was a monster of some sort, neck long with a small head, body mostly hidden in what he assumed to be a lake, judging by the stones and trees surrounding it. He had to constantly twist and turn his arm to get a full picture, the lines were shaky, as if the artist was unsure with their movements and some things seemed just off about it, trees seeming out of place and the water seeming plain. It wasn’t a masterpiece by far, but it wasn’t terrible either. If it wasn't on his skin, the boy may have liked it.  
When he finished taking off his clothes, the seven year old stepped into the water filled tub, worry evident in his face. Taking the bar of soap, he rubbed as much of it into the bath rag as he could, trying to make it as soapy as possible. Without even bothering with the rest of his body, Gilbert roughly scrubbed at the lines, trying to wash them off his skin. The soapy rag not having much of an effect, other than irritating his skin and causing a burning sensation on his arm, causing it to turn bright red and pink. Soon tears welled up in his eyes, growing frustrated and panicked, when they bubbled over, they streamed down his face and dripped down to join the soapy and slowly cooling water. Soon those tears became gasping sobs as his body shook with desperate cries. His skin tore and bled the more he scrubbed, small red dots turning into bigger ones as blood came to the surface and slid down his skin, bright red and complementary to the black ink, still prominent as before. The blood mixing into the water gave it an almost unnoticeable tint of pink and he gave a small final sob, his breathing quivered and he trembled.  
With a hiccup, he stood stepping out of the tub, watching as water and blood slipped down his body and onto the floor. Gracelessly, he reached down to grab the towel sitting inches away from the growing puddle at his feet. He made drying himself quick work, hissing and letting loose a few tears as it went over his arm, pulling and snagging the torn skin. Once he was dry, he slid on that day’s clothes, the fabric soft and of an obviously fine quality. His steps were acquainted with hiccups and snivels, his hair dripping and creating wet marks on his shirt. “Maman?” He softly called out, his body trembling. It wasn’t long before footsteps echoed in the halls, drawing nearer until his mother came close, putting him into a tight hug. “What's the matter mon petit souris?” She quickly leaned back, still low to the ground, fussing over her child.  
“I-” He hiccuped, “I’m so sorry Mama!” He cried out, running forwards to hug her again. Gently rubbing his back, soothing him.  
“What happened Gilbert? I’m sure it’s nothing that can't be fixed,” Adrienne said calmly, running a hand through his inky hair. When the boy stepped away, she watched as he pulled his sleeve up, revealing his bloody and design covered arm.  
“I don’t know how it got there! I woke up and it was there, it won’t come off, Maman! I can't get it to go away even though I keep trying to wash it off!” He sobbed, tears returning to accompany his wails. They slowed down though when he realized he wasn’t being chided and instead his other simply gave a quiet laugh.  
“Oh Gilbert, you’ve done nothing wrong, this is something wonderful!” She exclaimed, bringing him into a tight hug.  
“So I’m not in trouble?” He asked cautiously, talking into her shoulder, trying to not make eye contact.  
“Not at all, do you know what this means?” The brunette asked, taking his hands and swinging him in a circle with her as she stood, almost in a dance. She took his silence as a no and smiled, slowing them to a stop. “Your soulmate made that, whatever they draw on their skin will appear on you, it’s the same for them. From what I can tell, your soulmate isn’t too bad at art, if I say so myself.” She gave a slight frown, before dusting off imaginary dirt off her dress. “Let’s get you fixed up, it wouldn't be good to for those cuts to get any worse,” she grabbed his hand, half dragging him to the bathroom. Letting loose his arm, Adrienne started to go through cupboards and drawers. When she stepped away, she held a box of band-aids and a small set of scissors. Once she cut several away from the rest, a bottle of antiseptic found her hand to replace the scissors. “This is going to hurt, but you can be my brave petit souris, right?” She asked, leaning down and grabbing his arm. A leftover tear streaked down his face as he have a sharp nod, his cheeks puffed out. The woman smiled, “good.” She hummed before dripping the anesthetic on a cotton ball and placing it on one of the slowly scabbing cuts. Gilbert let out a cry, but held still as the medicine ran and seeped into his wounds.  
It seemed like ages before the antiseptic was put away, “you’re so brave Gilbert,” she hummed before placing band-aids on the worse scrapes. “It’s all done now,” she soothed, caressing his face. The raven haired boy gave a shaky and tear filled smile before leaning in to hug his mother. As she ran a hand through his hair, she smiled. Gently, she let him loose and nudged him away. “Now why don’t you go message your soulmate, I’m sure they’re waiting for you. You can even go use one if your father’s pens,” she said softly. With a sharp nod he bolted out of the room and down the halls. Doors passed as his feet hit against the floor with soft thuds, the further he got, the slower he became. Until he came to a stop in front of a large wooden door, seemingly taller and more ominous than the rest.Slowly he turned the handle to the room and leaned against the door, pushing it open. The office was extravagant, furniture luxurious and large paintings decorating the walls. The desk at the end of the room was empty, papers delicately piled and seat pushed in. Making his way to behind the dark wood desk he reached up, stretching on his toes before grabbing a fountain pen from off the surface. After acquiring it, he disappeared to his room, making sure to close the door behind him.  
When he found himself sitting upon his bed, he thanked the fact he was ambidextrous, so he wouldn’t be stuck writing half legible words to his soulmate. With a moment of hesitation and a twitchy hand, Gilbert wrote the simple word, “hello.”


	2. Tavish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a summary, but just a warning, I did research some Scottish dialect, but it's a bit hard to find stuff for it, so it's mostly sprinkled in. If something needs corrected, just comment and I'll try to fix it.

He had seen it, he was sure of it! The beast’s head had been a few feet above the surface, neck seemingly longer than his own torso, it’s body invisible under the dark water. It’s skin was scaly, like a fish, and its eyes beady. It was almost impossible to see the beast with it’s dark body almost blending into the water behind it. He had been sitting on the shore, designing his newest toy when he heard it, a piercing wail across the water, echoing against the rocks and hills. It caused him to throw his paper and pencils aside, watching as it rose for air, crying out, it’s scales shimmering in the clouded light, before it swam, slowly descending into the lake. The water dipped around it before small waves started to venture away from the hidden monster. He stood there in shock for a few minutes, his heart beating rapidly, body frozen still other than the erratic twitching of his fingers as he stared out to the lake. “Blimey,” he whispered under his breath, looking for his papers only to find that they flew away in the wind while he had been distracted. Desperate to recreate the scene to not forget it, he grabbed a pen from off the rocks, it was worn, indents and marks on it from excessive and rough use, and started to draw it along his arm. His lines were shaky in an attempt to do it as fast as he could so he wouldn’t forget any details before he could recreate it on paper. He jumped when he pressed too hard and dug into his skin, causing a line to cross over the others jaggedly. As he finished with his haphazard drawing, he slipped the pen and the pencils into his pockets. His boots clacked against the rocks and caused them to shift as he half walked, half ran across them, not being able to wait to get home.  
His fists spasmed as they clenched open and closed, “yae don’t get it, I saw it!” He yelled bitterly, holding the paper close to his chest, “it came out of the lake!” Throwing up an angry pout, he scowled, lips pursed, and barely listening as his adoptive parents chided and scolded him for attempting to build yet another bomb to “kill some imaginary monster.” When they finally winded down, seemingly growing tired of trying to explaining their point to him, they left him in the room, taking the gunpowder and other materials with them. As he flopped onto his bed, paper falling beside him, he let out a groan of frustration. As he started to mutter angry insults and arguments, something caught his eye. On his right arm, a small simple yet elegant design was drawn onto his arm. Unable to tell what it was, he twisted his arm around to in front of his face until a simple “hello” emerged.  
Tavish wasn’t new to the idea of soulmates, his guardians had made it a very prominent part of his life. The two using it to communicate when something popped up and there wasn’t a phone around them and telling each other when he was grounded for one thing or another, usually from doing something “dangerous.” Words almost constantly littered their skin, handwriting differing so it made the contrast almost beautiful in a sense. So while it shocked him to see the word on his skin, it wasn’t anything that he hadn’t expected to show up at some point, just surprised that it showed so soon. Completely forgetting how the drawing on his arm must have shown on the other.  
Scrambling for a pen, he smirked. His hand was shaky and twitching around the pen, not used to or comfortable holding a pen with it, without a moment of hesitation, he wrote a blunt question, “what’s your name?” The words were sloppy, almost illegible. His breath seemed to be too loud as he waited, smile fading until letters started to appear, slowly growing as if they were being written on his skin without the pen. “Gilbert,” he slowly mouthed as it came to life, smile growing, there was a second of possible hesitation before the question of his name was written as well, just as elegant as the words before it. Tavish was quick to write his name alongside Gilbert’s.  
Time seemed to slow as Travish waited for some sort of reply, quickly growing tired of waiting, he gripped the pen tight, he scribbled the words “where do you live?” A confused expression grew on his face as he watched the word appear. “Wits a Marseille?” He butchered, writing it on the last usable spot on his arm. After waiting a moment, he started searching along his body for where Gilbert must have replied on his skin. Upon finding it along his calf, he grinned, upon reading the surprisingly blunk message of “it’s in France,” he snorted. Not bothering to wait for the question he knew was coming, he switched hands with the old pen for better handwriting, “I live in Whitebridge, It’s in Scotland.” The words were jagged and sharp, his hand being more used to writing and corresponding. With a second of hesitation, he added on “I like to draw.”  
His face split into a grin when right underneath his statement, a simple question to see was written. He didn’t answer it in words, rather shifting his body for a better angle to draw in with the awkward position. The pen started to slowly move across his leg, half hazardly reaching over words and climbing up his leg. Circles seemed to take shape, spikes pointing out of them, along side those were cylinders, lines coming out of one end only to end up on fire. Occasionally there’d be strangely shaped circles, lines connecting them with a name beneath alongside an explanation that was too thick and squeezed together to read. Time seemed to pass by in the blink of a second, soon enough his leg was entirely covered in ink and a sharp knock came from the other side of his door. Dropping the pen and letting his leg slide down, the door cracked open, his mother’s head peaking in. After informing him that dinner was ready, she slid out just as fast as she appeared. Glancing down at his leg, he saw a simple “thank you” gracing his other calf. Taking the pen, he wrote a simple “Talk to yae on the morra.” Not looking for a reply, he left his room with a smile almost identical to his counterpart’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, updates are going to be speratic. I'm only posting them when I can and want to write them, and I'm too impatient to wait to post it once a week. So updating is a bit random.


	3. Gilbert

He gripped his mother’s hand tighter as they stood in line, slowly moving forwards as others did the same. The boat they were boarding was bigger than any of the others he had ever seen before, a travel ship, built to transport as many as it could in luxury. If it hadn’t been this situation, Gilbert may have been in awe at the sight. His mama had woken him up early, before the sun had even risen yet. With his eyes still half closed and body slow from sleep, she had him gather what little possessions he could. “Don’t worry about the small things, just grab what you need,” she had said, reassuring that the two maids would send of the last few things that hadn’t yet shipped through the post.  
The war was getting worse and his papa had been sent away, his ama had been furious, saying that he was too old to go to war, Gilbert couldn’t help but agree with her. His papa had missed his ninth birthday and now his mama wanted to leave to England, all because he had been sent away. While the boy knew that things were getting worse with Germany advancing, but it couldn’t be that bad, surely? He tripped a little when his mother pulled him along with her. The line was slow, but at least it was moving forwards, unlike some of the others along the shore, even though boats were there, people weren’t getting on, leaving them restless.  
The near bareness of his arms left him feeling almost empty. The words were smeared from time and none came to replace them. Tavish hadn’t been much help. When he had brought up going to England because of his papa being sent away and the war, he only went on about them meeting and the trouble they would get into. It frustrated Gilbert, his soulmate wasn’t listening, the raven didn’t want to go to England, he wanted to stay home with his family. When he had brought it up, it had been pushed aside in favour of what Tavish wanted to do once they met, even with his insistence. It got to the point where he had snapped at the younger boy, choosing to ignore him afterwards, eventually the messages stopped coming.  
When they finally boarded the ship, he felt himself let out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. There were bright lights and the whole thing looked flawless. The room they had been shoveled into was huge, chandeliers hung from the ceiling and a white grand piano that his fingers were itching to touch was placed near the far side of the room, in between two sets of spiral staircases, leading to the lower and upper floors. Ornate white tables and chairs littered the floor and it almost reminded him of home, just more extravagant. Gilbert clung closer to his mama as what seemed to be hundreds of people swarmed the room, all trying to get down the staircases and towards their rooms.  
It seemed like hours before they managed to get to their rooms, the hallways had been squashed, people pressed against the walls, but it had been nowhere as near as bad as the ballroom had been like. The two let out a tired sigh once the door was closed, causing the noise from the hall to become muffled. Their room was elegant, much like the rest of the boat, it was almost too much for the boy. In the middle of the room was a large singular bed, just big enough for his mama and himself, and the walls were a bright pastel yellow and white pattern that he couldn’t decipher, a sharp contrast to the dark wood tables and furniture.  
When his mama started to unpack their things, placing them into drawers, he took a seat on the bed, occasionally shifting position when it sunk down under his weight. As the clock diligently ticked on the wall while seconds drifted by, his thoughts went to Tavish, a loneliness creeping up inside of him. “Maman,” He called out, even though she was only a few feet away, “can you get the wrong soulmate?” Adrienne paused, slowly moving over to sit by her son,  
“Why would you think that?” She asked, moving her hand to rub a thumb across his cheek. Looking away, the boy started to fiddle with the hem of his shirt, pulling it out of his pants.  
“He doesn’t listen to me, I told him about Papa and having to go the England, but all he cared about was me coming to visit him and the things he wants to do. It’s not fair, he should care,” Gilbert admitted, his frown growling deeper. His mother made a sound of understanding before giving a sad smile,  
“You said he was younger than you, right?” When the boy gave a stiff nod, she continued, grabbing his hand away from his shirt and clamping it tightly in hers. “He might not understand, he’s a little boy, just like you, only younger.To him, this is you two being closer together, not you having to leave the place where you grew up. I know it hurts and it seems unfair, but you’re both young, you two still have time to grow up. You may not be perfect for each other now, but you will be eventually. There’s going to be bumps in the road, there always is, if there wasn’t, it wouldn’t be real.” She explained softly, pulling her son into a hug. When they pulled away from each other, she stood up, walking away to grab a pen from the desk on the other side of the room. “Why don’t you write to him? I’m sure you’re both getting lonely,” the brunette ignored how his eyes widened. “It wasn’t hard to see the words start to disappear, Gilbert,” she said, handing the pen to him. “Now, it’s getting late, let me go on deck and see if I can find us something to eat, please stay here and don’t let anyone in,” she ruffled his hair before stepping out the door, giving a soft wave before she left.  
The raven sat in silence, wondering what to write, before scribbling down a quick ‘hello.’ A few seconds when by before he wrote ‘I’m sorry’ beneath it. Minutes seemed to turn into hours and he didn’t get a reply, he was about to give up before letters started to form on his skin. His blood ran cold as he read the solem ‘my parents are dead.’ He had never seen Tavish call the two anything other than his ‘guardians’ or ‘adoptive parents,’ so seeing the new title shocked him almost as much as the news.  
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, ‘may I ask how?’ His mama had always said not to ask those types of questions since they were ‘rude,’ but he couldn’t help but be curious.  
‘They got into the blast radius of one of my bombs,’ Tavish replied, not going into any detail. When Gilbert replied with a simple ‘oh,’ he didn’t get a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you couldn't tell, I've been listening to so much of the Dear Evan Hanson soundtrack. ILoveItSoMuch.
> 
> Also, fun fact, in ww2 a lot of the French military was men in their 40s-60s because there wasn't many young people and they had experience.


	4. Tavish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you don't realize how much you love a person until you lose them. (Oh shit, I sound so edgy.)

It had taken him over a year to convince his guardians to let him go to the lake again. The endless pleading and arguing finally wore them down. The lake was just as he remembered it, soft waves cascading on the rocky shore, dying grass managed to grow between the gravel. He wore a grin on his face as he stared out onto the water. He'd prove all of them wrong, his adoptive parents, Gilbert. There was a monster in the lake and he'd prove it. Then Gilbert would be amazed and envious. If his soulmate didn't want to join him, instead mopping that they'd be closer together, then he'd do it without him. Gripping the strap of his bag tighter, Tavish started to meander around the lake, slipping past the two adults' sight.  
His feet tumbled and tripped as he ran through the rocks, slipping as the rocks moved under him. His laughs seemed to echo and bounce of the boulders and trees surrounding the lake. Keeping it closed, he used his other to catch himself every time he fell. As soon as all he could see of his guardians were off coloured specks, he stopped letting himself catch his breath. The lake was bigger than he had thought if he was being honest, he had run so far and he still couldn't see the other end. Quickly growing impatient, he opened his bag, sitting in it was a collection of bombs of all different shapes and sizes. Among them was a rectangular metal box, several buttons were on it, but the one that stood out was a large red one in the center. Grabbing one at random, Tavish threw it as far as he could into the lake before running further along the shore.  
He was quickly running out of explosives when he finally made it to the opposite side of the lake, his adopted parents in view once again. Not wanting them to see him with the bombs, he threw the rest of them in, leaving the remote as the only thing in the bag. His Entire body was tired and his short six year old legs felt like they were going to collapse, but he pushed himself into a run, holding the remote tightly in his hand. “Ma! Da! Watch this! There’s a monster here and I’ll prove it!” He exclaimed, not seeing the look of horror on their faces as he pressed the button.  
At first there was a ticking before the boom. There was a flash of burning pain in his ears before the ringing, it wouldn’t stop. The constant sound of a bell ringing without break, it seemed like ages before the screaming. It was shrill and broken, as if the person it came from had just lost everything.  
It took Tavish a few moments to realize it was him. Noise seemed to echo and scream, but it was muffled, like cotton balls were in his ears. Curling into a ball on the rock covered ground, he started to sob, a throbbing and heated pain pulsing in his head. His cries seemed alien in his ears, they were too young, too hurt. By the time he managed to stand, stumbling and ready to fall, but standing. The moon was already as high as it could be in the sky, full and shining light on the lake, as if it was mocking him. Grabbing a handful of rocks, his hands trembled before he threw them into the water in frustration, causing the moon’s reflection ripple. Letting out an angry yell, he kicked at the water. Growing tired, he started to search for his adoptive parents, legs trembling. There was a layer of smoke and the smell of gunpowder hung in the air.  
When he finally found them, he couldn't scream,his throat was too hoarse, only air seemed to come out of his mouth. They weren't even in one peice, their limbs torn clean off or just barely holding on, whether by ligaments or bone, whatever one withstood the blast. Their skin was matted in blotchy bruises from purple to yellow, and some of it was torn clean off. He couldn’t move, his feet seemed to be glued to the ground below him. Their clothes and hair were singed, some of itt missing from seemingly catching alight. It felt like he was falling, falling and he couldn’t catch himself, darkness started to cloud his vision and he stumbled over to them, his knees threatening to get into the area between them before he collapsed, losing strength. Blood matted their clothes and seeped into the ground, causing the rocks to be surrounded by it. Broken sobs escaped him as he curled up between them, clinging to their limb and cold bodies, already becoming bloated with death. Sleep started to cloud his mind unwillingly and he soon drifted, sirens wailing in the background.  
He awoke to the force of someone shaking him and tugging at his ma to pull her away from him. Panicking he started to hyperventilate, tugging and holding on tighter to her corpse in hoped to not lose her again. Suddenly they were torn apart and someone held him to their chest tightly as he screamed, kicking and hitting them. He was soon put in the back of a truck, someone throwing a blanket over his shoulders and restraining his arms. Growing tired, he soon lost his fight, seemingly sinking into himself into a slouch.  
His parents were dead and it was his fault, they weren't coming back. Letting out a wail, he curled up with his knees to his chest. It wasn’t long before a man in uniform stood in front of the boy. “Was a bomb dropped?” He asked solemnly and even though it hadn’t, Tavish still nodded, stunned and not fully registering the question. He believed it though, even if it was unusual, bombs weren’t usually dropped in the day, but the boy didn't say anything, instead only letting out quiet tears. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of elegant black writing on his arm , reading it he glared, anger bubbling up inside of him. How dare he, After ignoring him for weeks, now that they were dead, Gilbert wrote to him, having the gall to say sorry. “Do you have a pen?” He croaked out to the man walking away, he didn't bother listening to him as he stepped away, quickly coming back with one. Quietly, he scribbled down a sharp message. “My parents are dead,” he didn't bother reading the reply and swiftly handed back the pen, a bitterness residing in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first, I know it takes a lot for Demo to hold a grudge against someone he cares about, so its sort of ooc. But I have reasons, 1, hes a kid, 2, he hasn't had alcohol, 3, he just lost his parents, he's going to be pissed.
> 
> I did end up writing at camp, I got back late last night and typed this up earlier. It was pretty chill, talked about glow in the dark condoms and had a rave only without the grinding and drugs.
> 
> Fun fact: There was a blitz in Scotland and bombs were dropped in the day, it just wasn't common from what I've read. So it's not too far off that they'd assume that is what happened. If I researched bad, just go ahead and correct me, I like my stories to be historically correct when they can be. I know there's times when it can't, but I prefer that to not happen.


	5. Gilbert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert arrives in the UK and learns that not everything is okay.

Gilbert hated England, they hadn’t even hit shore before the resentment grew. While his parents had him study english among other languages, but it certainly wasn’t his favourite. The words being confusing, some being pronounced the same, but spelt differently and meaning different things. There was no elegance to it and it was hard to learn, far more than it had any right to be. It didn't help that nearly everything was written in the language, from signs to newspapers, he had to adjust quickly.  
If it was just that, the boy didn’t think he’d mind it too much, but within the first day of arriving, he was bombarded by the noise of young boys naive and way too eager to follow their fathers into war. It made him sick. The port was filled with people departing or boarding ships, whatever they were doing to become safer he supposed. While the sky was bright, the air reeked of smoke and death, fitting he thought when he felt a tingling on his arm, reminding him of what had happened to Tavish.Shaking the thoughts away, Gilbert frowned before taking in the sights, simply being dragged around by his mama. While there were plenty of intact buildings, the smouldering rubble kept his attention away from them. His stomach clenched and rolled at the sight of what he thought to be an arm buried rubble before he was hastily pulled away.Gilbert felt like he was going to be sick, the scent of death hung heavy in the air, it made him question his mother’s choice to come here of all places. It would have been safer in France surely?  
Keeping his eyes glued to the streets, he struggled to breathe, his fingers trembled around the suitcase he had been helping his mother carry. Silently, he gripped her hand tighter as she flagged down a taxi.  
The drive was silent, other than the occasional set of pleasantries, the streets slowly turned into dirt as buildings and rubble became further and further apart. Trees became more common as city turned to countryside. The car gave a harsh grumble as it slowed to a stop in front of a small cottage. It took the raven a moment to realize that it was his new home, due to it being so much smaller than his previous one. The outside walls were a dull blue, the grass and flowers dying in the yard. The windows were dusty and seemingly cracked, not to mention, there was a large cellar door, out of place and filthy. Gilbert had to keep the grimace off his face when it caught his eye. But his mother caught sight of his distaste, “it’s just a bit of dirt, Gilbert, all it takes is some water and hard work. Then it will be just as beautiful as it was when you were a baby.” She chuckled pulling a suitcase along with her.  
The tiny house hadn’t been used much, but it had been passed down through the family and Adrienne couldn't bear to part with it, quickly growing attached to it when she first inspected it. While in recent years upkeep had been lacking due to expenses and a lack of purpose to clean it,her and Octave had spent many summer months there before Gilbert had been born, the stress of the constant traveling and weather changes wasn't good for his health, while Octave retreated more and more into his study.  
The house was cleaner than the boy expected it to be, but he could still see dust in the air and dirt that clung to the floors. They barely took a step into the house before a young flustered maid rushed in front of the two, giving a clumsy and shallow curtsy. “My Lady, Sir,” she spoke, “I apologize for it not being cleaner, I tried my best with such a short notice and,” she paused. “Lack of staff,” she laughed nervously, gesturing to herself. With the lack of the formal income of his father's bank work, they had only hired one maid, “just to be safe as his mother said. Whatever she meant by that.  
“Thank you, Marceline. Now you may continue cleaning, this place is going to take some work.” She sighed, “Gilbert and I will unpack our bags, perhaps make something light for dinner. Our stomachs are still a bit unwell from the ship.” When the slightly girl nodded, Adrienne dismissed her. Turning back to him, his mama smiled, “now let's find out rooms.” She laughed, happy about retiring to the small cottage.  
Despite not seeing an upper floor from the outside, the boy was still somewhat shocked to not find a staircase to another floor. Instead, the house was simply a singular floor, everything on the same level. Finding his room was quite easy with the very few doors he could find. His was a worn white that was fading, just enough that you could see the tint of the wood underneath. Cracking it open, Gilbert found a room with light wood flooring and rich baby blue walls, freshly repainted by the looks of it. While the rest of the house had been dusty, the room was seemingly spotless. Setting his suitcase on the monochrome bedsheets, he found himself in a bit of shock. This was his home, he wasn't in France anymore. With a sharp intake of air, he held back tears as he started to put his things away, if just to keep his mind off the demons clawing at it.  
Dinner was quiet, the occasional hiss and scream of silverware sliding against glass plates. It made the potpie they ate seem to taste like paper in his mouth. He had excused himself as fast as he could.  
The room was dark as he laid flat on the lumpy mattress, still stiff from lack of use. The lights were out, casing the only light to come from the night sky through his window, but even that was clouded by fog and mostly blocked by the blackout shutters. He felt his eyes grow heavy and just as they started to fall shut, a loud blaring siren started to scream. With a jump, he threw his blankets off in a rush of fear induced adrenaline, he needed to find his mama. Running through the hall he crashed into her, but before he could get a word out, she grabbed ahold of his arm, dragging him outside. “Maman, whats going on?” He cried out, simply trying to keep up with her, stumbling as he went. Stopping in front of the cellar, he was confused, why would she bring him here?  
“I'll explain in a moment, just get in the shelter, Marceline is getting a lamp and something to do while we wait.” And suddenly Gilbert felt something in his head click.  
It wasn't a cellar, it was a bomb shelter.  
Crawling in the metal building, he took a seat on one of the beds, it was snug, but it wasn't horrid. Time seemed to stand still as his mother crawled in too, sitting there they waited for the maid. When she finally arrived, she shut the door behind her, a lamp and books in hand, and it felt like the boy could breathe again. They were safe.  
The night was filled with the screams of falling projectiles and the explosions of bombs and buildings collapsing, but it was all distant. A simple echo in a background of noise. Until it seemed a lot louder, the screams high pitched in his ears. Glancing over at Adrienne, he saw her look of fear before the bomb hit. The noise was deafening and the ground shook, it felt like everything was going to collapse, but it didn't. It took him a moment to remember to breathe, tears were streaming down the boy's face when he wondered if perhaps death may have been better than what may be to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally updated this. I meant to update this every Thursday  
> But I grew tired and unmotivated, I'm hoping that maybe since I started meds for shit I can keep a decent schedule, but who knows.  
> This is late as hell, but I hoped it was Okay?


	6. Tavish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orphanages aren't safe in the 40's and Tavish picks up a new habit.

The wooden floor creaked under his footfalls as his head hung low, in his arms, he clung to a small pack, whatever possessions he could fit in it nearly spilling out. After the questioning had finished, the men had told him to gather his things, he barely had time before they shipped him into a car on its way to London, on its way to drop him off at an orphanage. They didn’t even wait for a worker to come out of the building before they left, leaving him standing on the stone stairs alone. Tavish was alone and his knees shook, unwilling to move before the large chipped door opened, revealing a young woman. She gasped before taking quick steps towards him and lowering herself to his height. She had a knowing frown on her face, a single blonde strand out of her bun and in her face. “You were left here,” it wasn’t a question, but he nodded anyways. She ran a hand through his short hair, strands of it still singed from the explosion. “I’m Daisy, what’s your name?” Pulling away from her a bit, the boy dug into his pants pocket and pulled out some folded papers, before he had been driven away, they had been shoved into his hands. There weren’t many, but it included his birth certificate and a swiftly written letter explaining the explosion.   
Daisy’s face softened as the papers were placed in her hands and her eyes skimmed past the words. Lowering them away from her face, she stood, grasping Tavish’s hand and slowly leading him up into the building. As they stepped into the foyer, she motioned him to stay there as she walked further into the building, leaving him him alone on the creaky wooden floors. Suddenly a small ball bounced into the room, eventually rolling into his feet, looking up he saw a small boy, perhaps even smaller than himself, standing in the doorway. His hair was a thick mop of brown and his face pale and littered with freckles, realizing he was seen, the boy had a look of fright before it swiftly switched to a cold stare, a straight face. “Who are you?” He asked stiffly, occasionally taking glances at the small red ball at Tavish’s feet. When he picked it up off the ground and rolled it around in his hand, the boy froze.   
“The name’s Tavish,” he said, standing up a bit taller, not willing to be intimidated by a kid with a rat like face. “Yours?”   
With a shuffle of his feet, the thin, rodent like brunet grimaced. “I’m Mason, Mason McKinley, pleasure to meet your acquaintance.” With that, Orion jutted his hand out, when the other didn’t take it, he glared and twitched his fingers. Letting his hand fall to his side, “Miss Daisy will be back soon, so I best be off, I’m not supposed to be out of ‘time out.’” He rolled his eyes at the word, “If you need anything…” he paused, leaning in close “illicit, I’m your man, for a price.” Stepping away, he snorted before bounding off, his too large coat flying behind him.   
Tavish frowned, confused with the boy’s choice of words. The sound of feet clacking against the floor pulled him out of his thoughts, looking up the boy saw Daisy’s sad smile. “We have a room set up for you, you’ll have to share a room with another boy, but I can take you to go get your things situated,” she held her arm out to him. Gripping his bag tighter, he grasped her hand in his, cringing slightly with the skin on skin contact.   
Leading him up a set of stairs, Tavish glanced around the halls, the wallpaper was worn and chipped and the doors seemed to be hanging on by a thread each. Stopping in front of a door not alike all the others. “This will be your room, Mason, your roommate is currently in time out, so you’ll have to wait awhile to meet him,” she said softly, opening the door for him. Stepping in, he set his things on the thin empty mattress across from the cluttered side of the room. The single window in the room was chipped, a spider like pattern etched into it and his things caused the metal frame of the bed to creak. “I have to go back downstairs, come down whenever you’re ready, Tavish,” she said, walking out.  
“Alright Miss,” he said hollowly to the empty room, just as he was about to start putting his things away, the door was thrown open, Mason walking in.   
“Finally, she’s gone, I didn’t think she’d ever leave,” he sneered. Digging into his jacket he pulled out a match and thin white cigarette, pulling the latter up to his mouth, he struck the match against the wall before lighting it. Taking a breath of air, he pulled it out and let loose his smoke filled air. “Welcome to the humble abode,” he mockingly bowed.   
Smelling the air, Tavish let out a coughing fit, reaching up to hold his arm over his face. “What is that thing? It smells worse than a horses’ arse!” He spat, stepping away from the other boy. Smirking, the boy laughed, taking in another puff.  
“It’s a cigarette, you’ve never seen one before?” Reaching into his jacket, he pulled another out, “here on the house,” he offered.   
“Nah, I’m good,” Tavish frowned, “I’d ratha’ not smell like horse shit.” His Ma would’ve made him wash his mouth out with soap for that language, but she wasn’t here, he thought over bitterly.   
“More for me then,” Mason smiled, putting it back. Suddenly a shrill call of a bell filled the air. “C’mon then, it’s dinner, if you miss the slop they give us tonight you won't eat until morning.” The brunette chuckled, digging the end of his cigarette into the metal frame of his bed, causing the embers to suffocate and die out.   
Following him out, the scrambled down the stairs and into a large dining area, long tables and chairs taking up the floor space. Joining the other kids in line, Tavish noticed that they all seemed too thin, skin almost hanging off of their bodies and clothes worn and several sizes too big in most cases. “What’s wrong with all of them, they look like they’re about ready to fall into their graves,” he whispered, or tried to, into Mason’s ear.   
“There’s not enough food, don’t you get it? This is an orphanage, no one gives a fuck about us. Everyone is too wrapped up in their own lives to give two shits about what happens to some poor kids with dead parents. We’re lucky when someone bothers to donate anything,” he spat bitterly, moving up to grab a plate from the counter separating the kitchen from the dining area. Grabbing one with him, Tavish jumped when a glob of white gunk was dropped onto his plate with a splash. Grimacing, he followed the other to an empty table on the farthest side of the room.   
“What is this...” he trailed off when the shorter pulled a flask out from his jacket, taking a hard swig before slamming it on the table.   
“You need to be at least a little drunk to stomach any of this stuff, in my opinion,” he smirked before digging into what Tavish believed to be mashed potatoes. Tentatively he took a bite before he almost spat it out, it was bland and reminded him of dust, swallowing hard, he grimaced.   
Laughing, Mason lifted the flask and held it out to him, “want some?” He questioned with a bitter smile. “Just remember it’ll cost you a favour.” Frowning, Tavish took the drink.  
“What sorta’ favour?” He asked wearily, giving the boy a sideward glance.  
“I’ll ask when I need it, it won’t be anything terrible, just take a fucking sip, it won't kill you.” He snapped flatly. With a pause and a sharp breath, Tavish lifted it up to his lips and took a swig. Unused to the taste, he started coughing, almost spilling the drink. It burned his throat and it made it hard for him to breathe. Catching his breath, he heard the sound of Mason talking over his harsh pants for air. “Don’t worry, the first drink is always like that, it gets better the more you have.”

And it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is soooooo fuckin' late and I apologize, I've been stuck with writers' block and only have now got around to finishing this chapter. I had half of it done for months. I wouldn't have even done it if not for being grounded, I said I was working on an English paper, whoops.


End file.
